Rising from the oily shadows has emerged a being whose might denies all who approach him from seeing the light of future achievement. Time progressively moves forward, hurtling toward this gargantuan creature with little to no regard whom it has caught in its net. No longer does this fortress of ice rely on cold isolation and grim determination to withstand what would tear down its walls, eyes now open wide, they see the inevitable collision.
Frantic work must be done, yet, residing in solitude this kingdom sits dormant, numb to the impending crisis. So many plans and wishes had for the future, naught to be realized should it remain the way it does, silent. A lone figure stalks the dank, frigid halls, muttering words of unknown to all who would hear, but only the stones do. He brings his own shadow to bear upon the snared parapets, an indecisiveness and anxiety not known for quite some time. The Cynic, with all his accusations and sharp rebukes towards what has been done, mindlessly travels the lengths of corridors spouting as much as he can before his future comes to pass.
Yet another resides within, placed upon the throne, the one who would guide this once forsaken bit of rock to a higher plane of existence. Once moving through half-lidded eyes now are cast abroad to the immense shadow yonder external gates. Before, half-blind to the dangers of the world, sliding around, through, and over all that battered away the cold stone's resolve, wide eyes see and feel the hot breath of the real force of danger approaching, turning once vacant, chilled, mortar to soft, easily moved rock. The Realist faces a new foe in the form of the world, his white knight of Confidence all but side stepping the looming shadow, and all the while the fool, Romantic, plays tunes upon his stings hoping to swoon the One from the Past all the more. Dire straights such as these demand a new course of action...but what?
.............an anchor dragged along the ocean floor.
